Tu Solus
by faorism
Summary: HPDM: BDSM- I was to be duality, and to transform into that anthropomorphic beast was—and always would be—a serene bliss.


_Author's Notes_: For the following: kinky_potter (request: Sub!Draco/Dom!Harry); 52_flavours (prompt: 16- scent of a soul).

_Summary_: I was to be duality, and to transform into that anthropomorphic beast was—and always would be—a serene bliss.

_Disclaimer_: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise or any characters or events that align with those of the series, and do not claim to do so. I also do not claim to own any copyrighted items, any items not copyrighted but still owned by another party, any real locations I may mention, or crossed-over characters I may incorporate. I do own this story, the plot, and any original characters or locations I create.

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"Any extra boundaries you wish to place, Draco?" Harry said, his voice uniform in terms of tone and inflection. He was preparing himself. It took him slightly longer to do so than it did for me; so for him to have already placed himself in the hold of our play, he must have been started acting the role long before I stripped down to a tight pair of shorts.

"There is nothing."

"And the stop?" The dragon-hide whip he held twitched with a short snap by his feet. He—standing tall in the distill shadows shrouding the most secluded of 12 Grimmauld Place's lower chambers—was warning and charming me in the same sentence; the same action. _This you will feel_, it said. _This and more_. _Are you ready for such bliss?_ I yanked on the chain connecting my wrists to the ceiling, the answer in the sound.

"As it always is," I said complacently—understandingly—before tossing my head to the left, an arrogant smirk writ on my face. Tongue in cheek, I laughed, "I cannot change a spell's wording no matter how powerful I may be."

There. He had a taste of my attitude tonight: both the submissive and rebellious; the willing and the snarky. Tonight, I would have control as well; I could flux the line if I so wished it.

"Say it and I will begin." So in line with our preset guidelines. Such a Griffindor. But in his defense, that was why he made for an excellent dom. He cared about my wishes; he was creative with his strikes; he stopped when the stop was said; he healed me expertly so there was no sign of his skillful damage save the years-old _Sectumsempra_ scar (that he treasured and despised more than anything else). I decided to appease him, as I always did.

"_Tu Solus_."

He snapped the whip once again, the tendril reaching a bit further from his foot than before. "Once again, with my address, boy."

I shivered at my title for the night and tried to form the most passive expression I could in such an excited state. He preferred that I felt the pleasure as a steady increase like the climax (or climaxes) I succumbed to when he worked me over; but this was not the case. Everything was brilliant. Everything. Even his teasing—even the innocence that still plagued his soul after so many months. It was hard to conceal my need, but I somehow succeeded. "_Tu Solus_, sir."

The whip came down without a chance for preparation. The quick heat crossed the side of my thigh with barely enough strength to leave a mark. We had begun.

"Say what you want of me."

The chain crunched as I swayed. The spreader bar distancing my ankles was a bit longer than I was used to, and I could barely straighten my legs without tipping over. "Your cock."

"Did I ask for crudeness?" Harry hissed as he raised the tool. It twitched as he brought it behind him and tossed the force of his attack towards me. (He was skilled with the whip: he was quick yet accurate; aggressive but graceful.) The whip's tongue licked my side—hard and unrestrained—four times before I had time to reflect on the first of his strikes. I withered as the rough leather (which still had jagged edges where scales once protruded) grazed my skin, a shallow cut appearing on my otherwise smooth skin. I wanted more; he wanted more: why the fuck did he take his damn time?

"What do you want of me? And without the attitude." His voice was so heavy, as weighted as his hand when he slapped me. Heavy as his knee grounding into my stomach. Oh! even the memory of the pain sent trembles through my limbs.

I smirked. "Your cock, sir. It's just so fucking big. Taking it within me—my mouth and down my throat, choking on that—"

I cried when the whip crossed my cheek with enough force to break the skin and send my head twisting leftward. "Stop it," he spat as he flicked the dragon-hide appendage angrily at my feet, knowing full well how how it unbalanced me to do so. "I did not ask for a rake in my dungeon tonight."

A globule of blood appeared on my cheek, and it took all of my strength to focus on the conversation and not of the wish for a heavier flow of the sleek essence. The six slashes so far tingled deliciously, but it was not enough. Not nearly enough. And he was so far from me. Merlin, I needed more. "But sir, I beg you. I want your cum on my face—drip—drip—dripping down my—Ah!" A wicked whip crossed my face again. "My—my chin." Again. "I know you enjoy it. I"—to the ear—"only wish to pleasure you"—to the cheek—"Potter."

"Behave!" Harry snarled. I was hit eleven more times in restless succession, all centered to my right kidney. Blood burst from the spot: it crawled down and moistened my shorts; it slicked the dragon-hide leather, causing the tendril to clumsily snap against my skin; my body relished as crude adrenaline laced my senses. All the while, a blinding pain brought gagging pants from my lips, but I deserved Harry's reckless abandon—I desired it—I had pushed him to this state purposely—devotedly. So, as my cock twitched in pleasure as another stripe of heat erupted at my stomach, my knees collapsed under me, and I screamed as my arms nearly came out of their sockets. (I thanked Gringotts' caverns that Harry had the forethought to cast light spells on my joints to prevent any serious injuries there.)

Harry heaved for air. Doing the same (but being far less successful), I tried to return to my previous position but the tenderness over my kidney and the difficulty of keeping balance with the separator made it too hard. I hung rather pathetically from my chain, face mostly hidden by my biceps and feet struggling to find a comfortable hold on the cold stone floor beneath me.

"I—I," I whispered with a gentle laugh, "meant no disrespect, my dear sir." At the endearment, Harry minutely raised his whip but I continued as if I did not notice the less-than-subtle threat. "I merely wanted to tempt you. I care about your pleasure as you do min—"

Harry took two measured steps closer to me, something that surprised me into submission. He was too close to effectively use his precious whip. What was his plan? "You"—Closer, he approached—"are nothing more"—Just barely closer—"than a willing slave to me."

Angry patches of red flushed my cheeks. "I am no slave," I hissed: I did not want this play tonight.

Harry, not reading my frustration properly, smirked. "I beg to differ."

Growling like a tame but spurred animal, I gave another (failed) attempt to stand. I managed only to shape my body to better appeal to Harry's sensual side: a subtle curve to my lower back, pressing my hips and growing erection toward him; my hair haloing my face. "I am no slave," I repeated, smirking with a hint of a warning lining my voice.

He turned the whip in his fist. "You will not fight my command, boy. If I say you are, you must be. No—"

"_Tu Sol_—"

I felt the pain before I comprehended what had happened. Aggression writ on his face, Harry grabbed the whip partway down and hit me with the ridiculously heavy handle over my right kidney, again. There was something in his expression that clearly (or clearly to me, at least) told me that he understood that I had not liked the direction the conversation was heading; that although he would have liked to continue, he would do anything for me and my pleasure. He stayed in character even with the secret message being sent; he was such a good dom and before I could muffle myself, I moaned in appreciation.

"You like that, boy?" Harry repeated the attack, his voice softer—but no less demanding—than it was a moment ago. I moaned again.

"You like it as well, sir."

"Do not act like you know me," Harry said with a nasty glare, eyes glittering brilliantly as he leaned even closer. His breath danced across my nose—my chin.

Kiss me, you fool!

"Why do I need to act?" A tight smile stretched across my lips. "I know you better than you do."

"Liar." He hit my exposed elbows with the handle, causing an uncomfortable (but somehow still desirable) numbness to surround the area. "How can one so filthy—so tainted by gross thoughts—know me?"

An odd angle to use, but I could work with his dialogue. "How? Because I've had you, sir; and I've tasted you, and fucked you, and slept more than once by your side." He glared at me, but I noticed a slight bulge pressing against his pants so he must be enjoying himself. "I know the very scent of your soul."

"And whatever does it smell like?" Harry's hushed voice carried over me like a dusty wind, cooling my aches while splashing me with tiny peddles of anticipation. The dragon-hide twirled and twirled, ready for its next bite.

"Like shadows, sir, on moist dirt. A torch dropped into water. And ginger." I chuckled. "Always ginger."

The whip's handle came down on me once again, this time to my knee. The shock of it caused me to tumble in place, electricity spiraling up my leg to my cock. I was literally weak at the knees for him at the moment, and it was something my pride would not let him know. So, I resisted the urge to thrust (I could not afford losing my balance for a hopeless endeavor as rutting into the air between my Harry and I); but I did mewl as the pain in my side sparked down to my toes. Merlin, I needed him to touch me.

"Please sir, no more whip."

Barely an arm's length kept Harry from me as soon as I finished my request. He reached out and purposely stroked the cut on my cheek, discretely smearing the greasy redness along my jaw. It was warm, and pleasant and made me wish that he would cover my entire flesh with blood.

"What will I do then, if I do not have my whip?" Hand still on my face, Harry pressed the handle into the weeping wound at my hip. I trembled and desperately threw my weight on the chain toward the intrusion, a queerness chilling the back of my neck. He rotated the object, and bright bursts appeared before my eyes. "And you've been acting so poorly; why should I even bother?"

I growled despite myself. "I refuse to beg."

The handle dug deeper. "Really? But don't you want more?" Deeper—deeper. Oh fuck, why he such a tease! "Isn't whining 'please' a sign of that which you claim to detest?"

I was getting hard quickly. Damn. "Anything, sir, but outright begging."

"'Outright?'" Harry whispered as he drew nearer. Finally—finally—he was just a hairsbreadth away from me. I could sense the folds in his clothes, the warmth of his lust, and his need to have me climax; I could breathe in his effort, his sweat, his roughness, and the affection that lay a shallow layer until his dominance. The proximity was suddenly too much for me to maintain my (albeit somewhat tempered) submission: I rutted into him. He hummed and slid his eyes closed, mouthing _Show me, Draco_, and placing a hand under my left bicep to support me. Given his permission, I slowly rubbed my bloody cheek onto his mouth, pulling my chain so I stood more upright. He timidly licked the source of the coppery slickness before sucking up the trail the blood left on my otherwise pristine face. Harry lapped at my jaw and neck like a starved cur: my skin was left wet with saliva as he explored further down. I pulsed against his warm body when, at the same time his tongue found my hardened nipple, he pressed the whip handle into the gash at my kidney again. He twisted my nub between his teeth and the still bleeding wound in almost perfect unison. Groaning his temporary title in a succinct exhale, I pressed my still tender elbows into his shoulders and used the leverage to add that more power into my thrusts.

"More," I said into his unruly hair. And although it was a command, Harry bit into my nipple as his hands fell down to the waistband of my shorts. Fingers working devotedly, Harry pushed the tight garment as far down as it could go with the separator still in place, which wasn't very far, but far enough to expose my erection, balls and bare cheeks. Having my dick freed thrilled me, and I yanked on the chain to show my enthusiasm.

"More." Harry dropped to his knees gracelessly, and, taking the cue, I painfully brought my legs up and threw them over his head so that the separator rested halfway down his back. A sharp bite to my thigh sent a trill of excitement to my head, but even that was not enough to distract me as that dreaded handle pressed into my already quivering anus. I thrust against his face (the earlier cuts and now bruising welts aching in bitter defiance), his title on my lips once again. Swallowing however much of my swollen scrotum as he could in a single inhale, he breached the tight ring of muscles as best he could with only my blood as lubrication. The handle entered and exited shallowly, but it was still enough for me to howl in abated delirium. His mouth surrounding my balls—and my cock brushing by his cheek, nose and/or ear with every movement—only made it that much sweeter.

"More!" I somehow cried despite the clot of lust choking me. He continued with his ministrations as though I had not spoken.

"More, sir, please." He sucked on my scrotum harder.

"More!" The handle entered deep enough to breeze against my prostate.

I whimpered his name—his given name—Harry—Harry—Harry. I flinched knowing I would be punished, but his name—Harry—Harry—my lover's name passed through my lips with as much ease as the blood seeping from my wounds; but honestly, the punishment meant nothing to me. I was in another realm—a place to enjoy and relive that which I should forget while experiencing the pleasure I could receive in my new life. I had become much more than Draco Malfoy: I was witness and creator to beauty. I was the material and the hands that manipulated forms: after all, my very psyche had morphed: I had demoted myself while maintaining the man Harry loved and cared for. I had kept the balance between these two forces: I was to be duality, and to transform into that anthropomorphic beast was—and always would be—a serene bliss.

And Harry was there to witness it. Harry was there to make it.

Harry was there to love me.

"_Tu Solus_."

I did not know whether it was him or I who screamed the stop, but it did not matter: we were too far off from play to continue in the roles without blurring the lines too much for comfort. Well, whoever said it, the effect was immediate. I was released from the chain and the separator and whip vanished. Harry (expecting this) caught me before I hit the ground. I moaned his name again as he laid me on the cold stone, sitting between my legs before leaning over me to clean up the blood on my belly with his tongue. He made sure to dotingly trace the nasty scar diagonally bisecting my chest.

"Fuck, Draco, I'm close," he mumbled on my heated flesh. "Are we..."

"Yes, you dimwit," I soughed with clear desire. "Continue or expect to never use that lovely cock of yours again."

Harry laughed—voice husky and without a trace of the harsh role he had lost only a moment before—and began to undress. I would have helped, but my arms were nothing more than gelatinous masses after having been in one position for so long. He did not seem to mind as he was already stalk naked, erection jetting out in front of him, bliss dizzying his expression.

I prepared myself to be lifted and taken, but instead, Harry reached behind him. A wet pop resounded, and I heard more than saw a plug thrown somewhere above my head. I nearly came thinking that Harry had that in him the entire fucking time, waiting for me to shove inside him.

"Harry, now," I demanded.

He dropped on top of my stiffness like a leaden weight, and I cried some sort of deft statement about hotness, fucking Harry, cock and Gillyweed. He let out a stuttering chuckle and gripped onto my sides, purposefully thumbing my cut with a numbing devotion. I sighed at the abuse, and heaved as much power as I could against him. We were reckless and bucking like savage animals, but it was okay to be so... undignified because we lasted only a few short moments before he came onto me, and I came into him.

"Great mandrake, Draco," Harry sighed, sinking onto me after the necessary two point twelve minutes of labored, post-orgasmic breathing. He kissed my neck gently as he _accio_-ed his wand and lazily began to stitch up and heal me.

"Yes, well, what more do you expect? I'm bloody fantastic."

"Hmm..." He continued his work and nipping on my neck and shoulders until there was no sign of our play. It bothered me that the evidence of our mutual satisfaction was gone, but Harry liked clean slates, and he liked my body as perfect and untainted by his touch as possible, and (more importantly) he loved me too much to leave any lasting damage.

He was so good.

So... lovely.

"Hey, Draco.

"Are we even bothering to go to bed?

"Draco?

"Draco.

"Hey, you 'fantastic' waste of my time, are we going to bed or are just going to lie here on the floor of our sex dungeon like crazed perverts?

"I hate you."

"I hate you too, Harry. Goodnight."


End file.
